Aurnia the Bard
Wind brushed across the green field, carrying with it the scent of the salty ocean. A figure stood, looking across the vast cliffs that made the Eriu-Innis Isles. Fire-red hair waving in the breeze and eyes a shade of green only matched by the surrounding growth, she turned to head back to the settlement, tucking her curly hair behind her ear as she went. As she made her way over she want stopped by a small rabbit, accompanied by several babys. They made eye contact and she smiled as she crouched down to pet it’s head. Startled, the creature ran away, taking with it it’s young.
Opening her eyes, Aurnia O’Sullivan finished strumming her harp and looked up to the surrounding crowd. She smiled, soon after standing and...
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"I hope you've been practicing."
Juliette snapped her attention from it's daze towards her patriarch as they approached their destination. The Ithanian furrowed her brows at the statement, her eyes rolling upwards as one would do towards a nagging parent before she responded.
"You already asked."
Leonzio sent a glance over his shoulder at her, before shaking his head, "I meant riding." By then though, the young woman had already spotted the stamping and snorted beasts. Her arms folded in annoyance, her steps slowing as she tried to lengthen the amount of time she had before she had to ride one of those creatures. The older Wodenstaff smirked briefly as he opened the gate of the first horse they came across- your average chestnut...
Hot breath awoke the sleeping Ithanian, her eyes cracked open the slightest to stare at the bloodhound who had placed his head in front of her's by leaning his snout on the bed, panting her in face. She rolled over after lightly pushing the canine's head away, only on the next side to find empty sheets. With a frown, she sat up, staring at her husband's empty side before shaking her head- he was never around to say good morning anymore.
Or goodnight, or how's lunch, or -
Juliette grimaced and shook her head to clear the internal ranting. It was too early to be angry. After another briefly yawned, she pulled herself from the covers, shuffling past Arno- the nosy bloodhound- and made her way to the outfit she'd already had set out by a...
Although this doesn't follow the usual format for a lore story, given that it would only be seen by those in Swynmont, I chose to place it in the lore story section.
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Large posters bearing the following words would be pinned on various notice boards and city buildings throughout Swynmont, all bearing the Rosendahl sigil and panther.
Humble citizens,
I have no doubt that Brissiaud’s veering from its natural weather cycle has been noticed. The rainstorms that once circled Swynmont have since descended upon Anglia, Dorinn, and Dragenthal, drenching the countryside and drowning fields of crops. Coupled with the sudden mass migration of ravens to Regalia, it is clear that...
A youthful Tobie sat afront the fire with a young child aside him, his eyes soft on the boy's own as he spoke "I suppose it doesn't really matter now what happened, though I like to think there was a purpose to such a tragic event."
He continued with his story and then pausing as he stared at his watch "It's late, we'll continue tomorrow." Then sending the boy off to his parents so that they might return to their home and rest.
He stepped out of his own small home, the evening heat of Daendroc hit him with relentless force as he walked around to the side of his house and moved to kneel next to a pile of stones that rested in his make-shift garden. He dipped his head and let out a loud sigh "Today was good, Annalie." He took in a raspy...
The snow was falling heavy that late evening in Regalia, or was it early morning? The somber Songaskia didn’t know as she stumbled along through the streets of packed snow. The thin cloak doing little to nothing to stop the harsh coldness that stung Lumusi’s skin but she didn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel it at this point. The bottle of hard liquor in her hand numbing her senses at this point, taking a last swig of the drink before dropping it idly in the ground. The drink burning her throat as the many other drinks she took before.
Her sharp golden eyes swishing around the area as a choked sob left her lips, confusion blurring in her mind as the thought of her previous conversation before she went to drink her mind away. Despite trying...
---
Credit to: @Feyona
The world came back into focus too quickly to bear, almost, and Va’al almost had the piety to pray for a few more moments of unconsciousness, where pain was gone and the world was a little kinder. Unfortunately, reality was much crueler, and first came the pound of her head and then the ache of everything else. Her lips parted, and the sound she makes is nothing sentient, a mix between an anguished sob though her eyes were dry, and a rasp for air. Her lips were cracked, and she was sure that if the weather had been hot instead of nearly freezing, the leak of blood from her broken nose and abraised skin would have been sticky and miserable instead of nearly frozen to the fine hairs of her skin.
She wasn’t aware...
Love was a tricky thought for her. Thus far, the woman had only fallen in love twice; once in a war camp and the other in a graveyard. She had found herself holding hands with doubt for many days before she accepted either love, but now only the latter ruled her life.
It was an odd story, Juliette would admit to herself as her daughter sat besides her, pulling her mother's dark hair into straightened locks with a brush. A tale of what lead to her marriage was one constructed of broken-hearts, nearly failed trust, and a broken ankle.
She had been proposed to in her dead sister's winery, the ownership having been handed down to her widower by that point. Lautaro hadn't even stood to propose; they had sat together on the empty bench...
The Autumn sunlight scorched though the half closed curtains, painting the blankets the color of brown rather then the black the shadows had dyed the covers. Copper red hair clung to the woman's left cheek from the mix of sweat caused by her fever and the fact that she'd just awoken from sleeping on that side- causing her wild curls to flatten against her skin. The Claith had pushed herself up several moments ago, her fingers dragging gently through the tan fur of her roommate, the Ithanian desert cat that had been gifted to her as her lilac butterflies rested on either the bedposts or their creator's shoulders.
The woman gave a gentle sigh, pulling the blankets tightly around her as she shivered before a soft knock from the door crept...
The year was 295 AC. The beaming sun raised the temperature of the already hot Farah’deen desert. Our story takes place in a Songaskia slaving house and our lead character is Hunsi Imad Na’im, a Young and handsome young man. On top of this Hunsi was an amazing fighter, Becoming a multi-year winning pit fighter for Annual Songaskia pit fights. Just below him on the housing ladder was a second Qadit by the name of Arafil. In the eyes of Hunsi, Arafil was an elegant goddess. A perfect woman in every way imaginable. The two, after a month of under the table courting, would quickly become a couple. Of course, their Songaskia Slaver’s would never allow this, leading it all to be a secret between the two of them. Their relationship would bloom...
The moon smiled upon the cold desert of Farah’deen. A large Ashanti Songaskia Noble estate stood still in the night, not a single candle lit. The only light that could be seen as those that were in the Yard. Rubah Songaskia roamed the gardens, torches lit, keeping their eyes peeled for even the faintest of movements in the darkness. Lurking in the bushes and hedges would be a rather large Figure. With him he held a rather large Maylar in his right hand, in the other he held his battered Allakum Shield. Picking off his targets one by one, the figure shifted right to the front door of the estate. Two large Rubah stood at each side of the doorway, Each armed with a spear and buckler. The two would share conversation but then each of them...
The keen green eyes of the woman were nearly black in the shadow of the dusk. She hunched in the bushes, not far from the hunting path. A dark scarf was wrapped over her head and her green cloak covered her white blouse. The Claith focused into the darkness with a catlike gaze- the only light in her eyes reflected from the fading sunlight. The shaking in her hands stilled as a branch cracked nearby, the woman's gaze scanning over the darkening foliage.
Out of the shadow rose an elegant creature, the doe's steps light as the fluttering of the small butterflies near the Claith. Merina watched the animal trot across the clearing, her emerald eyes no longer even shining with dusk light as it all had fallen. The area was nearly too dark to...
The old house, tucked away in the quiet corners of the slums, hid a figure, this figure was known for his skills as a thief, an actor, and all round genius...- Atleast he said he was..
The small shop was nearing its closing time, as the last minutes ticked away, and the final customers dribbled out, Jackdaw waited... He had been waiting for some time... Spying on the chemical concoctions the Allar salesman had. He jumped down, and, while the Allars back was turned, he snuck a few brightly coloured concoctions into his pouch.. And some Choddle, for himself.
Unfortunately, the allar turned and witnessed the thief, using his quick wit, or blind stupidity, the young thief managed to knock over a tower of Obscura jars, which smashed and, in...
The clap of thunder woke the dozing dame from her sleep in a shuffling of sheets, the silver cuts of silk unraveling themselves around Olivia as she stirred. Her body was still stiff from sleep when a flash of lightning illuminated her vision: the thin tendrils of navy blue fabric that made up the canopy waved at her from above while around her the glittering net of silver swayed in the wind from her open window. The brunette rubbed away the afterimage of what she had just seen as she rose before her eyes snapped open to reveal orbs of deep sea blue as stormy as that very night.
Olivia rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms before she reached out with a hand to part the veil around the bed. Her fingertips grazed the strands of...
Velencia Malvosin
The nights in Regalia had stretched their hours into the day, whisking away daylight into an evening’s dark embrace as winter hastened its approach upon the sleeping city. Velencia sat curled upon the window sill, her knee pulled close to her chest while her free leg swung back and forth, hovering only a few inches from the ground.
She sighed and the warm breath that left her hit the cold window, spreading its warmth for a few brief seconds in a murky cloud. With her elbow settled upon her knee and her chin in the crook of it, she looked out into the city, the outside cold already reclaiming its reign over the window. Snow had begun its descent onto the city as Velencia drew the blanket closer around her, her bandaged...
So thick was the air with smoke, that one might think they were being choked by tendrils of darkness.
Virathus stood beside what had been left of the mighty river he and his comrades navigated - a thin stream that flowed away from a fire so mighty that it both blotted out the sun, and replaced it.
Around him strewn were bodies, all charred and mutilated. Gripping the axe that bore the inversed Eschevard sun and a spear, he followed the trail of the Nenya that his old Kommandant had charged. Similar to the stroke of a thick paint brush, the trail made clear it had crawled away. Keen to hunt down his injured prey, Virathus set off quickly.
Gazing onwards, images flashed across his mind as his peripheral vision betrayed his better sense...
The allar made his way down the cobbled street.
The time was messed up
He had woken up one minute late this morning and had to settle for Kafee instead of his regular white bread.
He noticed the apothecary on the high street, and stopped to see if he could pick up some supplies.
His mind was racing, the first thing he did to the Slizzar was ask him about the time.. A conversation that took up more time than Zhan had wanted to take up.. but none the less, the slizzar wasn't brain dead.
Moments later the Allar walked out with alchemical goods, his mind thinking about a strong drink and something sweet. he walked with precision, unnatural precision. Every step accounted for, he stepped into the willow, and soon, all his worries flushed...
Staring down at the city, Jamie let a glow of nostalgia illuminate his eyes, relieving himself of his usual demand to maintain a nonchalant disposition. The Rosendahl had forgotten the blessings of autumn, from the smell of spices to the sight of hundreds of candle-lit pumpkins dispelling Regalia's usual darkness. Even the air seemed different, crisp and light and fresh; but whether this was a courtesy of the new season or the retreat of Zerlo's Illness, Jamie couldn't tell.
Although the vibrant colors and scents of fall did bring a well-needed sense of jubilation to the Rosendahl's daily routine, a second and more taxing emotion piggybacked on his exaltation; melancholy.
Jamie was never one for constantly examining the past and...
The night was quiet in the Commerce District. Hunsi had spent the evening with Caoess'Alloa, Drinking away the problems he had. After they each said their piece and Hunsi had almost replaced all of his blood with alcohol, they set a room up for Cao to sleep in with the Promise that the Qadir would rest his head soon. Hun went to the next room, ordering A'isha, his 16-year-old Sister to bed. Once the house grew still and quiet Hunsi made his way to the bottom floor and slipped on out of the house. He headed Across the city with heavy struggle, The Qadir stumbling and tripping up on his own feet but soon enough he made it to his destination. The Slum District underground tavern. Sat alone in a corner booth would be a single Hassal...
The courtyard glittered of abandoned silver plates, dishes wiped clean of the grand foods they once held. The party had been a success up until the grand arrival of some rather pesky participants that set several young folks scurrying away from the dance to avoid any run-ins with the despicable.
Now though, there was not even an uninvited within the courtyard that had once been filled with colors and beauty alike- only two figures aside from the cleaning servants remained; the young Lautaro of House Wodenstaff and his Half-Ithanian wife. The two still remained in their masquerade attire, all the way to the white and gold masks that adorned their faces, though they were soon abandoned by both and held in hand.
Lautaro’s wife...
A link of music to set up the mood:
This is a tale from a man who had retired from the war upon the mountain, but not the war within. Atop the peaks of Ellador stood a regiment of Dwarves and Orcs that kept close watch over the main entrance, just above the ballistas. It was a normally easy job, as they mostly just had to ensure no Isldar would creep over the mountainside during a sky-battle, which was a relatively rare occurrence in the past. On this day, however, a truly rare thing happened indeed: Nikkidroth lived.
Nikkidroth Bristlemail; unit #12 of 34, the last Dwarf in a line of 12. That was exactly who Nikki was at the time. While many knew him by name, the soldiers called each other by number instead of by name so that the...
Crumbling shield, Split sword
The evening would still be young as Eira was dragged from the rainy porch she had sent herself on, while waiting for her friend to either arrive, or open the door. As she was dragged in side she did nothing but weep like a small child. One eye completely red from broken blood vessels could be seen, and the once small bruise that had barely formed on her cheek was now a spreading deep, reddish purple. Nevertheless, she continued sobbing. Almost inconsolable even for her best friend, whom had been with her since some of her first days in Regalia.
Her mind felt weak, her soul shattered really. Her friend Virathus, whom she not only trusted and stayed by, but loved unconditionally, seemed to have little to...
Velencia Malvosin
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of the old, rickety rocking chair that sat near the fading fire vibrated throughout the room. With crackling embers flaring up into the air in a final attempt at catching ablaze, the embers glowed bright before vanishing into the shadows. Velencia paced over the carpet that covered the creaking wooden boards of the home, head downcast as if she was in deep thought.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
The wind of the cool evening blew in short gusts through the open window, rattling its panes in quiet yet hollow screams.
Twitch.
The nerves in Velencia’s ear crackled as she tried to block out the distractions and her head quivered involuntarily. She wrung her wrists repeatedly, a letter clenched tight between the...
OOC Note: This will be a tad different than my usual stories. If you were here for funny shenanigans, then this isn’t the right story for you.
I had stepped through the gates of the Regal Bastion as quickly as I could. The messenger had arrived at my house with a heave and a puff. I had barely been able to understand him. The message he carried had been a simple one, though. One I had looked forward to all my life. It was time for us to raid the slums. I began my run to the Regal Bastion, diving in and out and even in between the common mulling folk on the streets. I passed through the tavern square, a few drunks raising their mugs to me on my dash across the square.
I let out a yell to Bob, the gatesman, and he opened the gate for...
Siobhan Merek
The sun dripped through the windows and onto the wooden floor like a golden ocean, enveloping my fingers in it's honey sweet warmth as it crept towards me. I'd watched the sun do the same in reverse what had felt like minutes ago though I knew that was not the case, my eyelids were too heavy for that to be so. Though I couldn't sleep as hard as a tried, even though I was content with watching the sun slowly embrace me I couldn't help but wish I'd been able to sleep through the morning. Though I'd been home in Regalia for a week, on the cusp of two, I was still nervous about the impression I was leaving on my father and brother. Though I only saw my brother Noah when I left the house, still slumped over with his chin to his...
A moment...
Even just a moment of peace. That’s how they all started out. Peaceful..
Then it turns dark...
She could feel her body freezing up...
She couldn’t move…
It was the face…
That man again...
He had dark grayish skin and glowing cyan eyes..he had such a wicked grin. His slitted eyes focused on her. He laughed and she felt like her body was on fire. Everything hurt..all the pain and torture came flooding back.
And she screamed...
She jerked up her breath catching in her throat. The Northerner was in bed her hand traveled to her heart, her eyes closing tightly “Fuck.” she mutters. “Not again.”.
A small figure creaked open the door. “‘Vilda?” he asked softly, he was no longer panicked about the screaming. It happened a lot...
Feet pounding across the fields, horses galloping off in the distance.
The bite of steel against steel and screams filling the air.
Broken memories danced in his mind.
The sound of a smash with a smell of wet dirt and roses filling the air, then a light stream of moonlight in his eyes.
Tobie's eyes widened as he heard the smash repeat, even after his awakening and the smell of wet dirt and roses remained. He looked to his windowsill with a sleepy, fuzzy blindness and realized his flowerpot had fallen from it's perch which scattered roses and dirt across his rug. A loud sound of thunder and lighting roared outside, sending the man sprawling out of his bed and half way across the room with a small shout.
His hand weakly grasped at his...
The poet stared at the parchment that they wrote on, namely the fingerprint they had left on the edge of the paper due to accidentally dipping it in undried ink. The paper was crisp with black lettering that read again a cryptic and Jacobinist message. The figure's mouth pulled into a frown as they lifted the paper with their fingertips as if it were venomous, staring at the mark.
This was their print. The swirls on the mark were just their very own. Their's and also the one of someone that people actually knew. Someone that wasn't a shadow-stalking message-bearer. Though there wasn't anyway someone could use the print to track them down, for here was no one in the whole of Regalia who would likely look at the finger of all those in...
Cerridynn paced around the hallway of her little medicine shop, a large ledger in her hands that was bound by worn leather. This ledger was nothing to do with keeping track of her income, it was instead filled with pledges accumulated from her time in Regalia. Cerridynn muttered to herself over and over again about her plans, never once ceasing her constant pacing and rythmic click click of her heeled boots.
The hallway was narrow and had few doorways leading to other parts of the building. Storage, preparation area and even a room she slept and wrote her evening letters. Every wall was lined at the bottom with concrete held stone which only edged inches off the ground before changing to planks of aged wood, which in turn was hidden...
A heavy sigh, firm hands gripping the balcony railing. The figure upon the balcony relished in the peaceful atmosphere that surrounded her home. Yet she had never regretted it more..
Gone..
All gone. She could almost not believe it..
She had wished for peace, but now that she had it she didn’t want it?
Four roommates..all gone.
Lathai off home due to the sickness, the forbidden carried with him. Raja unfocused and leaving both the guard and now her once home. Lastly, Clinton, the ever-ambitious, moved out to find his own way..
The only thing she had left jumped up on the railing next to her settling down. She placed a hand in its fluffy fur giving it a pat. Senior Garra..Lathai had named it..
The Northerner drew herself up a deep...
Hello, Old Friend
The night was a welcome cover for the figure, the noir sky blending in rather nicely with her brown locks and her midnight azure cowl. The figure moved swiftly from the floating vessel on which she ventured to the Crown Isle; her home- for now at least. The crashing waves and familiar scents were a warm welcome, which would easily suffice far more than any human interaction would.
White strips of linen lines her hands, which were tainted red-- a nasty contrast in comparison of the ocean blue silks she adorned.
The chill of the wind did nought in the ways of throw her off; she merely kept on clip-clopping onwards for what felt like an age. Finally, the sounds emanating from her heels on the stone path came to...
The crowded tavern full of people, a woman in red beckoning her over to a booth.
Walks in the park.
Fuzzy images flashing in her mind.
A stab, a bite, and broken fingers.
Blurs of flowers littering her vision.
A bang, screams, and a bright light blinding her sight.
Amelina woke with a jump, for the third night in a row she had the same dream. The same dream that caused her to sit in front of a window until dawn broke.
Her eyes bloodshot as she watched her reflection in the mirror, she moved to make her way out of her room. She creeped down the hallway to check on her sisters’ then moved to her cousin’s room to check if he was still there.
She watched him for a moment, watching his scarred cheek puff with each breath he took.
Amelina...
It was around sundown in a tavern, located among one of the most busiest streets. One walking down the road wishing for a drink will see the leaves turning red as they readied themselves to perish for their branch when winter came. One could notice, in the tavern so busy in the night's coming, an old man wearing a black cloak, scars along his face, holding a cane with a golden hilt. He held a hat holding a few regals, looking around often, at times locking his gaze with someone asking with the same raspy words, "Come sit and I shall tell you a story, just offer one Regal and my tale is yours." he said with a toothy grin. Slowly as he invited people to gather around, people came to gather around the sinister-looking man. Bobbing his hand...
The room had been dark for nearly three hours past the rise of the Regalian sun. The Wodenstaff nanny crept into the nursery of one, seeing how the other babes were off elsewhere. In her slumber, the little girl that laid curled up underneath her blankets took no notice of her caretaker until the sudden break of daylight in her room, causing her arm to lift on instinct to protect her eyes. The nanny stood by the window of the room, drawing back the curtains of the nursery in a way to, not only lighten up the tired room, but also the tired three year old. Mathurine whined, rubbing her small fists against her eyes when it finally came to being lifted from the warmth of her sheets, the cooling air having seeped a bit into the room from the...
Theme I | Theme II | Theme III
The aged and rotten floorboards creaked eerily in a run down sewer shack amidst the Chrysant War. Drops of sewage water and other unnamed foreign liquids fell from the decomposing oak wood ceiling, though it was never much of a ceiling at all, regarding it’s duty to provide shelter and protection to those who found themselves lingering in such surroundings. A family of Slizzar lived in such a place, breathed such air, yet had such hope for a better tomorrow. The Kalzai’s: Eric, his brother Xyrsi, and his mother Ssylvania.
Ssylvania raised her beastly boys to develop a bitter and prejudiced view towards mankind: Ailor. The opinionated majority of mankind had also developed a similar view directed...
The Ithanian hummed as she rested her palms on her cheeks, gazing at her reflection a moment before sticking her tongue out in a mock disgusted expression only to make herself laugh much like a child. The woman pulled her hands off her cheeks, the light makeup on them make her fingers a dusty red color. She brushed her hands off on her skirt before picking up a comb and pulling it through her wavy hair, her humming beginning again for the few moments that her attention were no where else but herself. As self-centered as it might seem, these were the rare moments she didn't concern herself with others. Her love hasn't yet picked a fight today, her shop hadn't burned to the ground, and no one was trying to destroy her sketchbooks so for...
The sword's hilt rested heavily in her palm, foreign yet close, like an old friend that hasn't been seen in months. That was what the blade was to the woman- an old friend. Through her years of mental turmoil, she had rejected the thought of being a fighter, bending to the culture that she hated. The culture of pacifists and war-haters that she had long since rejected, but in those three years of torture, she had become like them. Sickened by even the thought to weld her trusted weapon.
She lifted the blade, through those months she had only trained with a dulled or wooden weapon. Her skills were still sharp, but she couldn't bring herself to lift her sword. Her own sword, the one that she had had since she was a child of sixteen. The...
"It was midnight fall upon the slums dark alley, and many cloaked figures with bitter frozen hands walked into a tavern with dragons on back. The meeting had started to discuss their future, their hopes and dreams now scattered anew, a crimson headed woman whom downed in feathers raised her hand and laid waste to silence."
A Phoenix Calls - Scribed by Kaldric Bordor
Within the slums, somewhere between the main gate and the vampire district, seventeen shadows had gathered under the moon-lit and candle-lit glow to discuss the future of their families. The people varied from Ailor to Isldar with all stoic faces that could pierce the soul. They sat around a round oval table, made of pine and oak in a room without a roof. Their was little...